


Ironbound

by Waffle-o (XylB)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Arranged Marriage, M/M, minecraft au, prince jeremy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 11:32:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14260044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/Waffle-o
Summary: Jeremy is quite sure he's not supposed to go around falling for charming blue-eyed blacksmiths with nice smiles and nicer arms and a quick wit to match his own, complete with an awfully endearing laugh that makes Jeremy's heart swoop in his chest like a boy with his first-time crush.He's pretty sure he's not supposed to do that, as a prince that stands to inherit the throne.Anddefinitelynot when he's getting married in eleven months.





	Ironbound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jrmwds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jrmwds/gifts).



> Inspired by [jrmwds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jrmwds) and their art <3.

“Sire, it may interest you to know the Princess Nina is holding a ball - ”

“No, it does _not_ interest me,” Jeremy sighs, leaning back in his chair and levelling a look at Gavin.

“Jeremy,” Gavin says, matching his glare.

“Gavin,” Jeremy replies. He sighs again and pinches the bridge of his nose. “C’mon, you _know_ I don’t want this – arrangement.”

“You’ll have to say differently to the king tomorrow,” Gavin warns.

“I know,” Jeremy says.

“After all, if one half of the arrangement fails, it goes down to the -

“To the next in line, yeah, I know.” Jeremy turns a pleading gaze on Gavin. “Can you help me keep stalling it?”

“You have a few months yet,” Gavin reminds him, tracing an idle circle on the table in front of them. “But you know Jack would love to secure an alliance with their kingdom.”

Jeremy sighs loudly. He can’t disappoint the king, he knows – King Pattillo, previously royal advisor Pattillo, took him in like a son, after Jeremy’s own parents passed on. He was much too young to rule, but now he stands to inherit the throne, and although that shouldn’t be for any time soon, the pressure still weighs heavy on his shoulders, the dread of this damned arranged marriage hanging over his head like the sword of Dionysus.

Jeremy has no objections to Princess Nina – he’s met her often enough, he certainly enjoys her company and her friendship, but he doesn’t wish to _marry_ her.

“It wasn’t even supposed to be Nina,” Jeremy mumbles, dragging his boot across the floor and idly watching the dust it kicks up.

“No,” Gavin agrees, and they fall into somber silence for a moment. “But she’s the next in line.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy mutters, nudging his foot against a leg of Gavin’s chair. Gavin nudges his foot in return.

It _wasn’t_ supposed to be Nina – originally Jeremy was betrothed to the first heir of that kingdom, Princess Sophia. Except she went missing several years ago and no one knows where she is – the kingdom refuses to proclaim her dead, but nevertheless they shifted the line of marriage down to Nina, her younger sister.

Jeremy knows he’s a prince, but he _really_ hates politics sometimes.

“When’s this ball?” He asks.

“Four days,” Gavin murmurs. “On the turn of the moon.”

“So Saturn’s Day?” Jeremy deadpans. Gavin snorts.

“Yeah, Saturn’s Day.”

\-- 

The Presour kingdom has always been lovely in Jeremy’s mind – fond childhood memories of sweet summer balls, of playful constellations tricked up between him and the two princesses, the way the moon hangs just right over the meandering river, the arc of the sunlight at midday to catch the beautiful stained glass in the castle.

Right now it’s decked out in soft white and vibrant gold, fresh spring flowers blooming from every corner and the ball patrons dressed in all hues, happy and vivacious just like the spring season around them.

If Jeremy weren’t the heir of Réuss, he’d dare to say Presour is much more lovelier than Réuss in the springtime.

“Prince Jeremy!”

Jeremy whirls around, startling one of his guards a little, and opens his arms to draw Princess Nina into a hug, squeezing her gently and laughing a happy greeting against her ear.

“Why, it’s been a time since we saw you,” Presour’s queen says from behind Nina, smiling brightly at her daughter and a now-red Jeremy. Jeremy keeps one hand on Nina’s shoulder and graciously shakes her father’s hand, politely greeting the king and queen.

“I can find King Patti - “ he starts, but the queen cuts him off with a shake of her head.

“No matter, I’m sure we’ll come across him in our own time,” she says. “How have you been?”

“Things are running pretty smoothly, for the most part,” Jeremy says. “I’m sure you heard about the wolf invasions in the north?”

“Oh, yes, ghastly things,” the king replies, shaking his head with a tut. “Glad to run them out.”

Jeremy nods solemnly and remains in small talk with the royals for a good while, happily chatting to them while the open-air ball mills around them, gentle music floating above their heads and aromatic ales passed around – Princess Nina plucks two goblets off a tray and hands one to Jeremy, politely clinking them together before indulging.

“Well, don’t let us draw you away from the fun,” the king says after a while, smiling at Jeremy and Nina as he gestures to the ball with his glass. There’s a heavy suggestion in his gaze, one that makes Jeremy’s neck burn again as he turns to Nina, raising an eyebrow.

“Would you like to dance?” He asks, offering up his arm. Nina smiles at him and glances at her parents before accepting, boldly plucking Jeremy’s glass out of his hand to place it on the next tray that sweeps by them, and then she sweeps Jeremy into the dance.

\-- 

Jeremy’s just on his way back to his quarters, exhausted but thrilled from the ball, when Jack catches him by the shoulder, smiling gently at him when Jeremy turns around with a yawn, lifting an eyebrow in question.

“How was the ball?” Jack asks. Jeremy nods and yawns again, pressing a fist to his mouth.

“Good,” he replies.

“How’s Nina?”

“She’s good as well,” Jeremy says with a laugh. “Didn’t see you much there.”

“Eh, I was busy,” Jack says, waving a dismissive hand. “Some trade talk. But I wanted to ask you a favour.”

“Yeah?”

“Tomorrow is the inspection day,” Jack says. “Usually I do it but tomorrow I’m busy with something else; do you mind doing it without me?”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” Jeremy says, reaching up to pat Jack’s arm.

The inspection day is not as strict as it sounds, and Jeremy’s attended a few of them, but they’re rather boring, just messengers bringing goods from market for Jack to inspect and approve, some as gifts and some as commissioned goods. It’s a way to check up on tradesmen without letting them know – send anonymous messengers to buy a product and they bring it back along with a report for the king and council to approve. It’s more of a formality than necessity at this point, to make sure no one is smuggling in anything illegal, or mixing forbidden draughts. There’s rarely any problems, though, in their peaceful kingdom.

“Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine, Jack,” Jeremy promises, smiling reassuringly at him. “Sit around, see a few swords, I got this.”

Jack laughs heartily, patting Jeremy’s shoulder before withdrawing his hand.

“If you insist,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Jeremy agrees, and watches Jack walk away before he shoulders his door open.

Jeremy divests himself of his finery easily, laying it in an untidy pile on the chest before wandering across to the shower room, sighing happily at the comforting heat of the water, washing away the sweet smell of the Presourian springtime _._

After that, he doesn’t do much more than trudge over to the bed and doze off, barely remembering to turn off his lantern before he falls asleep.

\-- 

“Hey, are there any rules for this?” Jeremy asks one of the advisors in the morning – far too early, but the birdsong and the merry sunshine helps Jeremy rise, and in light of the gentle heat simmering through the kingdom, he opted for a looser outfit, a sharp white linen shirt and thin cotton trousers, along with all his royal trappings, from the gloves to the light leather armour to the cape.

“None, sir,” the advisor says while they stroll into the throne room, where the rest of the council await – only five people, a friendly and rowdy bunch that Jeremy gets along well with.

“So we don’t have to stay within the castle?” Jeremy asks, scrutinising the advisor with a sharp eye.

“Well – no, it is simply tradition, sir.”

“How about we change it up a little,” Jeremy says, smiling slyly at the advisor. Jeremy turns to the council, raising his hands in greeting as he approaches them.

“What do you say, ladies and gentlemen, to perhaps wandering around the markets ourselves?” He asks with a grin. “Enjoy the day.”

“Why, I think that would be splendid,” one lady says immediately, looking around at the others as they murmur and nod in agreement.

“A day out, why not?” Another member agrees, getting to their feet with a cheerful smile.

“Wanted to get out of this castle anyway,” Jeremy murmurs to his advisor, laughing when the advisor rolls his eyes and laughs along, beckoning the guards over.

\-- 

The market is bustling with people, lively and vivacious and seemingly refreshed in the springtime, purple kingdom banners flying on the stores, stalls overflowing with fresh flowers and ripe fruit, happy chatter layered over it all, the screams of playful children and the cheers of familiar faces.

Despite being the prince, Jeremy blends in almost seamlessly, moving through the crowd with a smile for everyone, his guards trailing behind him in careful protection. It’s relaxed, and casual, formal but friendly greetings called to him and the rest of the council as they mingle, picking out potions and idly inspecting a few of the newer booths, to make sure they’re not up to anything.

Jeremy’s just waving to someone when he collides front-first with someone’s back – the boxes they were carrying tumble to the ground and they yelp as they whirl around.

“Oh, hey, Jeremy!” Gavin chirps with a laugh.

“Watch where you’re going,” Jeremy jokes, bending down to help pick up boxes, balancing them carefully on Gavin’s outstretched arms. People flow around them in easy movement, giving them room to work.

“Not my bloody fault _you_ ran into _me_ ,” Gavin replies, hefting the boxes up to rest against his chest.

“You were walkin’ backwards!”

“Well, still.”

“How’s Geoff?”

“Oh, he’s good – you wanna come in and see the new wing?”

“Yeah, sure, why not?”

Gavin flashes him a wide, toothy grin and spins to back into the busy general store, nearly knocking into a young couple and shouting out an apology as he swerves around the displays to get to the back, setting the boxes down on the counter and slipping behind to fiddle with the staff door.

“It’s just through there, I’ll give you a tour in a sec,” Gavin says, waving around the corner – Jeremy nods and leaves Gavin to his work as he heads over into the new space, the shelves new and polished and stocked full with goods, from simple potions to plump pillows.

Jeremy watches a couple people mill around and browse while he waits for Gavin, idly messing about with some of the trinkets on display as his guards converse amongst themselves. The general store is a welcoming space, all painted wood and exposed beam in high ceilings, homey in a comforting, rustic way that the castle isn’t. The torches blaze softly on the walls, too high for any troublemakers to hit and magicked brighter, illuminating the store in a gentle, yellow light.

“All right, here I am!” Gavin announces from behind Jeremy, a little breathless as he steps forward. “Potions’re all here, alphabetical, and from that shelf to the back is bedroom, and from there,” he gestures, “to there is sleep clothing, and luxury furs and what have you, and from there to here is room accessories!”

He turns to Jeremy with a beaming smile, clearly proud of the work he’s done organising the shop, and Jeremy nods, impressed as he grins back at Gavin.

“It looks great, Gav,” he says, playfully nudging his shoulder.

“Did it all myself as well!”

“ _All_ of it?!”

“Yeah! This morning.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Jeremy breathes, _seriously_ impressed at the work that’s gone into the expansive displays and the neatly-stocked shelves – he’s not sure _he_ would have the patience for that. “Where’s Geoff?”

“Ah, he’s out for somethin’,” Gavin says with a dismissive wave. “Been out since he woke up, left me to run things.”

“On market day?”

“Yep, the bastard.”

Jeremy laughs loudly at that and Gavin giggles, plucking a stray petal off of Jeremy’s shoulder to let it flutter to the floor as he continues his chatter. The store bustles with activity around them, pleasant customers exchanging small talk with Gavin occasionally, some seeking help and some just to give well-wishes, and Jeremy quietly lets Gavin go about his job, as cheerful and rambunctious as he always is, always smoothly slipping back into what conversation he was having with Jeremy until the sharp ring of a bell draws his attention.

“Oh, that’s someone at the counter,” Gavin says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Ought to go see to them.”

“Well I’ll leave you to it,” Jeremy says, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. “I’ve got to go check out a few other places anyway. Tell Geoff I say hi?”

“Yeah, sure, whenever he gets back,” Gavin agrees, and turns to walk away with a little wave.

“Oh, J!” He suddenly calls, whirling around in a crowd of people to look at Jeremy. “Lunch tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah!” Jeremy calls, and loses Gavin in the sea of people after his thumbs-up.

\-- 

Jeremy makes a stop at the Twin Trees tavern and finds it absolutely _packed_ , a cacophony of clinking mugs and scraping cutlery as people enjoy their lunches, calling constantly on one bartender or another to refill glasses or order another dish. Jeremy and his guards weave carefully around the tables to reach the bar, settling down in front of Trevor.

“ _Gods_ ,” Alfredo pants, closing the counter flap as he retreats behind the bar, brushing his hair out of his eyes. Trevor glances at him from where he’s cleaning glasses, grinning slyly as he playfully whips Alfredo’s chest with the rag – Alfredo jumps and slaps it away, flicking Trevor’s arm before he slumps on the counter.

“Busy?” Jeremy asks.

“ _Gods_ ,” Alfredo groans again, stretching his arms out.

“Only gets busier from here on out,” Trevor reminds him, and Alfredo sighs.

“You want anything?” Alfredo asks Jeremy, and Jeremy shakes his head.

“They might, though,” he says, pointing to his guards, and a couple of them place a few simple orders.

“On it,” Trevor says, granting Alfredo a moment of peace.

“Load me up,” someone says, sidling right up to Jeremy and slamming a tankard down in front of Alfredo – he jumps again, startled into straightening before he laughs, plucking the tankard from their hands.

“Scared me, Linds,” he says, pouring water into the tankard.

“Sorry,” Lindsay says unapologetically, laughing along with Alfredo as she settles on the barstool.

“How’s the shop doing, Lindsay?” Jeremy asks, and she shrugs.

“It’s good,” she says. “Lot of cooling potions out today.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Alfredo teases as he slides the tankard back.

“Eh, the apprentices’ve got it,” Lindsay replies, leaning out of the way for Trevor to hand Jeremy’s guards their drinks and whatever else they ordered.

Before Trevor can say the price, Jeremy unhooks a pouch of gold from his belt and counts out more than enough, sliding them over and insisting on the tip when Trevor tries to give him change. Trevor rolls his eyes fondly and drops it into the tip jar instead.

“Are you sure they do?” Trevor jokes.

“As long as it’s not burnt down, I’m good,” Lindsay says, sliding a few coins over to Trevor.

Jeremy lingers awhile at the tavern, talking with Lindsay, Trevor, Alfredo, and his guards while they drink and lunch, laughing whenever Trevor or Alfredo are whisked away to their duties, chatting about Lindsay’s potionmaking business and the new apprentices she’s taken on – Jeremy’s heard some stories from Michael, her husband, although he doesn’t work with her, and Lindsay doesn’t deny any of the fond accusations Jeremy brings up, delightfully regaling him in chaotic tales of training up novices, from the accidents that send a whole field of grass glowing for a month to the little missteps that led to a cauldron freezing over.

It’s a pleasant little bubble amidst the chaos of the tavern, but eventually Jeremy has to pull himself away, tipping Trevor and Alfredo before he slips away back outside to the street, sucking in a refreshing breath of fresh air after the heat of inside.

“Where next?” He asks his guards.

“Just down to the end, sir,” one answers, pointing to the line of stalls. “To the blacksmith’s on the corner.”

Jeremy nods and thanks the guard before wandering down that way, stopping at the stalls to peruse their small collections, purchase a few fancies because he can – he finds a brooch he thinks Nina would quite like, a gold oval with glittering crushed rubies in the middle, and a small collection of violets he think would brighten up the throne room, and stashes his new treasures in the empty pouch he brought along. After a few more flower stalls, he finally approaches the end of the cobblestone street, the buildings ahead turning to houses.

He stops in front of the blacksmith’s door, glancing up at the building before he strides forward to open the door – a blast of heat surprises him, but dissipates quick enough as he enters, his guards shuffling in behind him.

Jeremy’s never been in the blacksmith’s – usually swords and armour are delivered to the castle, and he has no need to visit, but today’s different. It’s stocked as he would imagine, armour pieces and weapons hanging on the walls, horseshoes gathered on a scuffed table. Towards the back is the counter, and behind that, the forge and workspace. There’s only one other person here, at work beside the forge sharpening a sword with a grindstone.

“I’ll be – oh, your Highness!” The man exclaims, setting his tools down and brushing his hands off on his dusty apron before he approaches the counter, stepping in front of it.

“Please, call me Jeremy,” Jeremy says, a little flustered at the title. The guy fixes him with a gaze, a smile tugging up the side of his mouth.

“If you insist, Prince Jeremy,” he says, and Jeremy finds himself laughing at the cheek.

“And what’s your name?” Jeremy asks, stepping forward to hold out his hand.

“It’s, uh, Ryan,” The guy says. “Ryan Haywood.” He extends his hand but then seems to think better of it, glancing down at his palm and nervously tucking it in his pocket.

“I wouldn’t want to get your finery dirty,” he explains, and Jeremy appreciates the consideration, nodding instead as he lowers his arm.

“So, Ryan Haywood,” he says, looking up at the racks of weapons. “You make all the weapons for the castle?”

“Mostly custom orders, sir,” Ryan answers. “I do the – designs for a lot of them, though. The smith in Voie d’Fonderie actually makes the bulk orders.”

“Huh,” Jeremy says, and when his eyes land on Ryan, Ryan looks down politely.

“You don’t have to – you can look at me,” Jeremy says, embarrassed all over again. “So you – custom orders?”

“Yessir,” Ryan answers, carefully lifting his gaze to fix those sparkling blue eyes on Jeremy once more.

Jeremy ponders him for a moment – his hair dishevelled, tinged with grime where he’s clearly run his hands through it, a smear of dust on his cheek and his workclothes striped in ash, his apron a mess of various black-grey splotches. The finer details, of his fingerless gloves streaked with ash, well-worn and thinning at the knuckles, of the line of grease running up his forearm, of the way the fabric stretches around his arms, of how his hair falls softly into his eyes with the tilt of his head, and of the startlingly attractive curve of his ja –

Jeremy thinks, quite suddenly, that Ryan’s awfully distracting. He shakes his head as if to clear it, and glances around as if to find another topic – his hand drops to his own sword and he pulls it out on a whim to present it to Ryan, focusing his eyes on the blade instead.

“Like this one?” Jeremy asks.

“Yes,” Ryan says, carefully touching the blade with his fingertips. “Yes, sir.”

“You don’t, uh, you don’t have to address me so formally,” Jeremy reminds him, and Ryan nods with a faint little flush to his cheeks, running his gloved palm along the flat of the blade.

“Guards, could you wait outside?” Jeremy asks, glancing at them over his shoulder. They agree in a chorus and file out of the shop, leaving Jeremy and Ryan alone, the hissing of the forge the only sound.

“I remember this blade,” Ryan says suddenly, gently taking Jeremy’s sword out of his hand to inspect the hilt. “Yes, I do, it was one of the first with an alloyed hilts.”

“Alloyed?”

“Usually hilts are made out of – wood, or steel, not much blending of materials in it, and it takes a bit of experiment to find the right balance for weight and protection and both – ” Ryan abruptly clears his throat, trailing off mid-sentence as he hands the sword back.

“Sorry, sir,” he says quietly. “I don’t mean to take up your time.”

“You’re not,” Jeremy assures him, sheathing his sword once more.

Ryan glances up at him – Jeremy smiles, and Ryan hesitantly returns it, his shoulders relaxing again.

“So, are you the only one here?” Jeremy asks, walking forward to the counter. Ryan follows, slipping behind the counter to stand across from Jeremy, his hands still in his pockets.

“Yessi – Yes,” he says, watching as Jeremy idly picks up the iron gauntlet resting on the counter.

“No apprentices?”

“No, just me.”

“Why?” Jeremy asks, resting an elbow on the counter. Ryan shrugs, leaning against the workbench beside him.

“Not interested,” he says.

“I take it you like the job, then?”

Ryan nods, reaches up to nudge a screwdriver closer to the wall. Silence falls for a moment, Jeremy searching for words he can say that aren’t goodbyes yet.

“Is there anything I can do for your highness?” Ryan asks, his eyes flicking back up to Jeremy. Jeremy _uh_ s intelligently; Ryan laughs.

“Surely you did not come for conversation, Prince Jeremy,” Ryan says with a smile.

“Maybe I did,” Jeremy counters before he can think of a wittier response.

“Well surely there are better places than the blacksmith’s.”

“Then I have yet to find them.”

Ryan’s mouth opens to respond and a laugh bubbles out instead, half-surprised and sweetly endearing even if Jeremy’s cheeks burn slightly. He quite enjoys the easy flow of conversation between them, almost like they’ve met before – but Jeremy knows he would _certainly_ remember a face like Ryan’s.

He suspects, in a little hidden part of himself, it’ll be hard to _forget_ , after this meeting.

“Are you always such a flatterer?” Ryan asks, crossing his arms. Jeremy permits his eyes to drop to Ryan’s forearms for no more than a brief second before snapping back up to his eyes.

“If you don’t know the answer, I clearly haven’t visited enough,” Jeremy replies.

“You’re not like other princes,” Ryan says, biting his lip to try and hide a smile.

“Oh, you know a lot then, I trust?” Jeremy jokes, raising an eyebrow. Ryan laughs, loud and bright and charming in its complete own way that makes Jeremy smile.

“Maybe,” Ryan teases. “But this is by far the nicest kingdom I’ve lived in.”

“And I hope it continues to be,” Jeremy says.

He allows himself another moment of staring before straightening once more, clearing his throat as he readjusts his cape.

“I don’t mean to keep you from your work,” he says.

“You’re not,” Ryan assures him, pushing off the counter to stand.

“Well, perhaps I’ll make more visits, then,” Jeremy says, tilting the end up like a question. Ryan cocks his head and glances away, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“A personal pickup would be preferable to a courier,” he says, levelling Jeremy with a pointed gaze. “The king did recently commission some new armour designs,” he continues, nodding to the iron gauntlet on the counter.

“I’ll make sure to check in on those,” Jeremy says, a promise in the words and a fluttering in his chest that he chalks up to Ryan’s answering grin as he turns to leave.

“Have a nice day, Prince Jeremy,” Ryan says when Jeremy reaches the door. Jeremy pauses with his hand on the door handle, smiling to himself as he shakes his head.

“You too, Ryan Haywood,” he says, and leaves to the sound of Ryan’s quiet chuckling.


End file.
